


Not Quite What Was Expected

by Crysania



Series: Rumbelle Fic Exchanges [14]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 14:44:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19889542
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crysania/pseuds/Crysania
Summary: When Belle French sets out to run far far away from home before her father can marry her off to the likes of Gaston, she meets a strange, enigmatic little man who takes her on an adventure she never quite could have seen coming. [Written for the Rumbelle Christmas in July 2019 to the prompt Shipwreck, SOS]





	Not Quite What Was Expected

**Author's Note:**

  * For [B_does_the_write_thing](https://archiveofourown.org/users/B_does_the_write_thing/gifts).



She wonders when, exactly, it all went to hell. It had started, like so many good stories do, with a need to escape. Not that she’s a criminal. Far from it. Belle French has always been a lady. Maybe not her father’s idea of a _good_ lady. She’d rather be hidden away in the library reading books, despite her father’s _dire warnings_ about never finding a husband if she’s better educated than all the men in the neighboring kingdoms.

That was, really, just fine with her. It’s not like the thought of love didn’t thrill her. Many of her books featured grand sweeping romances between the main characters. Fighting dragons and wicked sorcerers to save the day and win the fair maiden. Holed up in her lonely libraries, her mind wandered to far away places, daring sword fights, princes in disguise.

So yes, she was a lady. But not the one her father _wanted_. And so he’s gone ahead and done it himself.

He’s offered her hand in marriage, just a few days ago, to Gaston, the earl of a neighboring kingdom. A boorish oaf of a man, he had, while bending over her hand, laughed heartily at her reading and informed her she’d never have to bother with such things again.

She’ll have no time on her hand when she’s playing the role of _brood mare_ to Gaston.

_No thank you_.

And so, the need to escape is upon her. She’s willing to do anything, go _anywhere_ at this point. It’s dangerous, to be sure, but isn’t that how all good stories begin? And Belle French does love a good story.

The first two ships she approaches turn her away with a reproachful glare. She has too much money, but her clothes are fairly plain, an attempt to hide in plain sight. They fear she’s stolen it. Or worse, someone important will come after her and that will spell their doom.

The third won’t take her on, but hikes his thumb silently over his shoulder to yet another ship. “Gold,” he mutters, his voice a guttural growl.

She doesn’t know if he’s telling her she needs plenty of gold, or if the captain of said ship is named Gold. But either way, she’s off to the ship, with a hope and a prayer to the gods that this one might do.

She’s just stepping onto the dock, when a man appears in front of her. “Were you…” she starts to say, shaking her head.

“I was always here, dearie,” he says. When he bares his teeth in a smile, she sees the gold tooth and realizes this must be how he got his name.

“Gold?” she asks.

He scoffs, but doesn’t answer.

“Is your name _not_ Gold?”

Another scoff. “That’s what all these ingrates call me.”

“But it’s not your name,” she surmises.

“Indeed not.”

She waits for him to elaborate, but he doesn’t, looking down and picking what surely must be an imaginary bit of lint off the leather of his doublet. He doesn’t resemble the other men she’s come across so far in her search for a ship. Small of stature, not all that much taller than herself, fine features with high cheekbones, his outfit understated black and yet flamboyant all the same It’s a fine craftsman’s work, that’s for sure, tooling leather into such beauty.

“And your name, good sir?”

He eyes her up and down, large dark eyes boring into her. “And you might be…”

“No one of any consequence,” she says quickly.

“Ah,” he responds with, and then takes a step toward her. “Well, you see dearie. I take no one on my ship whose name I don’t know. Bad luck, you see.”

“The other men said taking a woman on their ship was bad luck.”

“Pish-tosh,” he says in a strangely high-pitched voice. “That’s utter rubbish. I can’t believe they still buy into that superstition.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “And yet you believe not knowing my name is bad luck?”

He shrugs.

“My name is Delphine, sir.” She casts her eyes to the ground, hoping he can’t see the lie in them, can’t hear the slight tremor to her voice.

He steps closer on nearly silent feet. She’s never seen someone move like him. Almost as if he glides toward her, feet never quite touching the ground. “Hmmm…” He reaches under her chin with one finger, pulls her face up toward his. She feels burnt where he touches her.

She feels almost naked under the gaze of those dark eyes, as if he can somehow flay the very skin from her bones, lay her bare. She starts to speak, but he holds up one finger of the opposite hand, cutting her off before she can get a word out.

“No,” he says at last.

“No? You won’t give me passage.”

He makes a tsking noise. “No, no dearie, that’s not it at all.” He leans closer to her. Too close. She wants to take a step back, but she fears she risks losing it all if she does. “Your name is not Delphine.”

“I…what?”

“I know a Delphine when I see one,” he goes on with, almost conversationally. “And _you_ , dearie, are _not_ a Delphine.” He turns away from her, twisting on one high-heeled boot, and strides away.

“Wait!” she calls out.

He stops, but does not turn back to her.

“Belle,” she says, her name coming out on a rush of breath. “My name is Belle.”

He twists back toward her. “Yes,” he says. “I dare say it is.”

He walks off then, leaving Belle standing on the dock, watching all her hopes and dreams walk away from her. He’s the last boat on the docks and she fears that simply taking a carriage out of town will not be enough. She needs to escape their kingdom all together, escape the nearest ones. Leave and never come back.

“Well,” he says and her vision clears as she looks back up at him. “Are you coming?”

“I…”

“You want passage, don’t you?” he shoots back.

“Well, I mean…yes?”

He heaves a dramatic sigh. “You seem like you’re not quite sure what you want, dearie. We can’t have that. Either you come with or you don’t. Once you’re on the ship and we’re off, there’s no going back.”

“You’re taking me with you?” She rushes forward then, finally unfrozen from her spot on the deck.

“I said that, didn’t I?”

“Well, no. Not exactly.” She rushes forward then, holding out her purse of coins. “And you haven’t taken this.”

He gives the purse a strangely disdainful look. “Yes well…save your money.”

“Save my…”

“And come along,” he snaps at her. “I don’t have all day. We need to get out of here before they come looking for you.”

He scampers up the rope ladder and over the railing, disappearing from view. Belle is left standing on the docks. “Wait!” she calls up to him.

He sticks his head back over the railing, frowning down at her.

“Your name?”

“Ah,” he starts to say. “You’ll have to guess that.” And then he disappears again.

Belle has no choice but to hike her skirts up, and follow him up and over the railing. It’s not easy going, but at least he’s there to help her over it. He takes one final look at her before walking off. “No, that will not do.”

She’s pretty sure he’s the most frustrating creature she’s ever met. “ _What_ won’t do?”

“That outfit? You’ll find something more appropriate in your cabin.”

“My – ” she starts to say, but he’s gone, disappeared into the bowels of his ship. She’s left standing alone on the deck, no crew person in sight. “My cabin?” she says to no one in particular.

This journey is starting off most oddly.

But a journey it’s going to be. The ship rocks slightly beneath her and she glances back at the shore. Soon she’ll be gone, far from home and from all she’s come to know and love. “Oh, father,” she whispers. “I’m sorry, but I had to.”

And then she follows where he’d disappeared to.

_Strange man_.

* * *

The ship is even stranger, she realizes. As soon as she steps into the shadows of the stairs that lead down into the bowels of the ship, she shivers a little. She’s not scared. Not Belle French. She’s a fearsome adventurer.

Who, if truth be told, has never actually _been_ on an adventure. The shift of the ship beneath her, the creaking, is all new to her. As she steps down to the first step, a light goes on. She gasps.

Each step she takes lights another light. Torches, she realizes, hung to the right of each step, and she clings a little further to the rail on the left. “How…” she murmurs, almost reaching out to touch one before pulling her hand back and scurrying down the rest of the steps.

At the bottom is a hallway, still empty. She can’t hear any sign of the captain of the ship. And now that she notices it, she can’t hear the sounds of _anyone_. It’s as if he’s the sole occupant of the ship, herself excluded of course.

But that can’t be. She knows little about ships of this size, but she knows it surely must take more than one small man to run it. There are two masts, the larger several meters tall. Surely there must be a crew and she wonders where they are.

She briefly wonders if she should be terrified of being on the ship alone with the strange, currently nameless man.

And yet…she feels completely calm, safer in many ways than she has felt in a long time. Not since her father announced he was actively pursuing a husband for her. And certainly not since he had settled on Gaston.

_Gaston, Papa…what_ were _you thinking?_

She’s halfway down the hallway when a door to her right opens. She lets out a little squeal, backing up against the wall on the opposite side.

There’s no one there.

But beyond it is a rather opulent room, certainly far too big for a mere cabin on a ship and she feels a shiver trace up her back as she enters the cabin. There, on the bed, which looks at least as plush and comfortable as any she might find back home in her kingdom, is the clothing he said would be there for her.

Trousers.

He’s left her trousers made of the softest leather she’s ever handled. There’s a shirt of fine silk, a leather corset, and a pair of boots sitting at the base of the bed.

She glances down at the dress she’s wearing. She supposes he’s correct. They won’t quite do for such a trip. Her valise is full of more just like it and she casts it a dark glance before shutting the door and stripping.

The outfit fits.

She doesn’t know why that even surprises her anymore.

The trousers are like a second skin and she can feel the blush trace up her cheeks as she stands in front of the mirror. The shirt seems made for her, the boots the most comfortable footwear she’s ever owned, the corset supportive without being overly constricting.

She’s unnerved by it, unnerved and a little amazed. She leaves the cabin… _her_ cabin…in search of her unnamed benefactor. She finds him standing at the helm.

Him.

And no one else.

The ship is well on its way, no sign of the shore. She’s left that well enough alone and not for the first time she feels a bit of a pang at leaving her father in such a way. He’s all she’s had, really. Her mother had passed away when she was just a child, leaving her father, and a long parade of nannies, to take care of her.

“Ah, that is _much_ better!” comes the trilling voice of the captain of their ship. She looks up to see him watching her, a half smile on his face.

“Yes,” she says. “Well…” What _does_ she say, really? “I’ve never quite worn such a thing.”

He tsks. “Of course not. I doubt your father would let you traipse about in such finery.”

“What do you know of my father?” she shoots back with, walking up the couple steps to stand at his side.

“You think I don’t know who you are?”

“You asked my name,” she points out.

“Well, a name is never _real_ unless it’s given, now is it?”

She blinks once, twice. He’s watching her with an absolutely guileless look on his face, eyes a little wide, as if he expects a real answer.

“I suppose not. But you won’t give me _yours_. So if I guess it, is it _real_?”

He cocks his head to the side, stepping away from the helm to come closer to her. One of his hands comes up and cups her jaw and he’s so _close_. She’s almost sure he’s going to kiss her, before his hand drops and he backs up a pace. “I suppose you’re right.” He still doesn’t offer up his name.

“And so…”

“Well, milady, it seems you’ve outsmarted me right into a corner.” He takes a half-bow. “My name, dearie, is Rumplestiltskin.” When he looks back up at her, there’s a smirk on his face, and she finds she _likes_ that. His face is lined, a little care-worn, but she likes the quirk of his lips and the brightness of his eyes.

It’s her who takes a step back then. “Rumplestiltskin?”

“At your service.”

She’s heard the name…somewhere…a long time ago. But she can’t quite place it, and wonders if somehow it’s important.

“They called you Gold…” Her voice trails off.

He scoffs. “Yes well, they would.” He doesn’t elaborate, and she’s not sure she wants to ask. There’s a mystery there, and if there’s one thing Belle does enjoy, it’s a good mystery.

He turns back to the helm and she watches the easy way he handles it. She’s still not sure how he manages a ship by himself, if he is indeed the only one on it. It’s strange to feel like the only two people in the world, but that’s where she is right now.

She’s ruined, she realizes. And maybe that’s a good thing. No ally of her father would have her now, traveling alone with Rumplestiltskin like she is. They’ll spurn her, Gaston at the lead. If she’s ever caught, she won’t be able to go back. It’s a freeing thought,, and she takes a deep breath as it crosses her mind. “Where are we going?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment. Then, -- “Now _that_ is interesting.” The words are almost conversational in tone.

“How so?”

“One would think you would have asked that before leaving with me,” he points out, waggling one finger at her.

Belle shrugs. “It hardly mattered.”

“Escaping your fair suitor?” There’s amusement there behind the words.

“How did you…”

“Young lady, dressed in all her finery, so desperate to escape _something_ , that she comes to me? I think it’s rather obvious.” He shrugs with the last words.

“Who _are_ you?”

“Rumple…’

“I know your name,” she cuts him off with. “Everyone on the docks seemed to fear you. And you imply much the same. Who _are_ you?”

“You’re a feisty one, aren’t you?”

She turns to glare at him.

And he laughs.

No…he _giggles_. And she really starts to wonder just what she’s dealing with. Why all the mystery, why all the fear?

He watches her for a moment, and then waves his hand in the air. She gasps as he’s engulfed in smoke. Purple smoke. It’s the weirdest thing she’s ever seen. She waves her hand as it begins to dissipate, trying to see through it to whatever is behind it.

And she gasps.

He’s _transformed_ and all she can do is gape. The all-black outfit is shades of brown and green, the hair once straight, now curls out in wild waves about his head. And his _eyes_. “What _are_ you?” she whispers.

He takes a step toward her and there’s a moment she can’t quite decide if she wants to step closer, into his space, or run. She does neither though, letting him get a little bit closer. His eyes, wide and strange, stare into hers. “Neverland,” he says.

“What?”

“You asked where we were going,” he points out.

“Well, yes…”

“We’re going to Neverland!” The last is said with a bit of a giggle. “You see, I have an old score to settle.”

“Never…” she starts to say but he turns from her.

“Hold on!” he shouts.

“What?”

He tosses something over the side of the ship. She can’t quite see _what_ , but then a whirlpool opens up in the middle of the sea. She jumps back, a little squeak leaving her.

“I said hold on!” he shouts again, and she does, dropping to her knees and reaching out to grab the base of the helm. What choice does she have, really? The ship is being dragged into the whirlpool.

And Rumplestiltskin, this enigmatic _man_ , if one might call such an alien being simply a _man_ , is holding onto the helm, guiding it toward the whirlpool with a wolfish grin on his narrow face. He shouts something into the wind, words that are swallowed up by the maelstrom before she can make them out.

And then they’re falling.

And the world goes dark.

* * *

Belle gasps as she comes to, mouth full of water and the grit of sand. She coughs as she leans to the side, the ache of it making her let out a small mewling noise.

“Well, that didn’t go quite as expected,” comes a voice from somewhere up above her.

She rolls to her side and sits up. She’s still in once piece at least, leggings torn, soaked to the skin, with hair plastered to the sides of her face and eyes still feeling watery. But she’s _alive_. She glances up to find Rumplestiltskin standing nearby, looking out to sea.

Where, she realizes, is their ship.

Or what’s left of it.

It’s listing to the side, a giant hole ripped through the hull, one of the masts hanging on by only a thread. The whole thing groans then, almost as if it realizes it’s been noticed. The ship tips a little further and the mast rips off completely, falling into the water beneath it with a loud thud and a splash. It’s close enough that Belle has to cover her head as some of the water comes at them.

Rumplestiltskin does not. He just closes his eyes and lets it hit him.

The world around them seems almost silent after that, the only sound the cries of some sort of birds in the forest beyond the little beach they’re standing on.

“What _exactly_ did you expect?” Belle finally says.

He doesn’t answer.

“Rumplestiltskin?” She can’t help the ire that’s creeping into her voice.

He shakes his head and she has to turn her face away as she’s hit with a few drops of water from his hair. “Yes?”

“What did you _expect_ to happen?”

“The last time the ship was fine.”

“You steered us into a whirlpool!”

He turns to her then. “It’s magic, dearie.”

She rolls her eyes. “I don’t…”

“Believe in magic?” he finishes. “I know. But your not believing in it doesn’t make it less real.”

She opens her mouth to offer up a retort. And closes it.

He smirks at that, and steps closer, waggling a finger at her. “Ah! I got you on that, didn’t I? How do you think we got here?”

“By a ship that no longer works?” She crosses her arms over her chest as she faces him.

“Well, that may be true, but…” His voice trails off and he cocks his head to the side.

“But?” Belle asks.

He hushes her with a look, eyes trained on the forest around them. “We need to get out of here.”

“But the…”

“Now.” And there’s a firmness behind the word that she hasn’t heard from him. Before she can do anything else, he’s reaching for her, his arm wrapping around her waist. She lets out a small squeak before the world dissolves around them.

* * *

When her feet hit the ground again, for she’s sure they _left_ the ground, she’s pressed tightly up against Rumplestiltskin, her arms wrapped around his waist, head buried in his shoulder. He’s not much taller than her. She knows this from standing near him, but here, pressed so close to him, she is all too aware of just how _close_ she is to his height.

She pushes away from him, and he lets her, immediately releasing her and stepping back. His hands flutter in the air for a moment before brushing down the front of his leather waistcoat, a nervous gesture she’s starting to realize is very much _his_.

“Yes, well,” he says, clearing his throat. “Here we are!”

“Where is _here_?”

They’re standing in a clearing, trees on all sides. It seems _darker_ there somehow, and Belle shivers a bit.

“ _We_ ,” he says, waving one hand around them, “are in a forest.”

Belle rolls her eyes. “I can see that.”

“Then why did you ask?” he snaps at her.

She watches him for a moment. He takes a step in one direction, pauses, moves in another. And then pauses again.

“I mean…where is this forest?”

“Neverland, I…”

“Told me that, I know.” She has to stop herself from rolling her eyes. It’s almost like he talks in riddles, purposely obfuscating everything. She feels turned around, upside down, has no idea what is going on and where they are.

And why they’re there.

“This way,” he finally says and steps off to their right. It doesn’t look any different than any other direction she looks. There’s no path, no thinning out of the trees.

“Are you sure?”

He turns on his heel to stare at her. “Of course I am, dearie.” He cocks his head slightly to the side and then smirks. “Come along then.” He waves his hand toward the dark forest beyond the trees. “You’ve come this far.”

“I didn’t have a choice,” she points out.

“You always have a choice.” The words are spoken so gravely that for a moment, she’s not sure what to think.

“And so you’d what? Leave me alone in this forest, let me fend for myself?”

“If that’s what you want.” And then he steps into the forest and the trees _part_ for him, as if he’s their master and he’s finally come home.

Rumplestiltskin lets out a little giggle and waves his hand forward.

She follows. Because she really _doesn’t_ have a choice. And she keeps reminding herself that this is _still_ a fair sight better than being Gaston’s wife.

* * *

“Where exactly are we going?” Belle mutters, for maybe the fourth time that day.

“This way,” is all he says. And he sounds grim, as if he has not been racing along like this crazy misadventure is just a lark. Every once in awhile she sees a flash of _something_ cross his face. Something she can’t quite define. Something she’s not sure she _wants_ to define.

She tries to remind herself, as she rolls her eyes at the same damned answer she’s gotten over and over again, that she wanted an adventure. She has one now, whether she likes it or not.

“Yes, but _where_? You know where you’re going, don’t you?”

“Shhh!” he says, holding his hand up.

“Wha…”

“Hide,” is all he says, grabbing her about the waist and hauling her with him like she weighs absolutely nothing. He leans into one of the trees and she’s about to point out that it’s not exactly a good hiding place, when the tree somehow _shifts_ around them. No, _melts_. That’s a better term. It simply melts as he leans back into it and embraces them. Branches shift and she realizes they’re now _in_ the tree. In the tree and yet not. She can see the forest around them clearly, can see through the branches that should be blocking their view.

She starts to speak when Rumplestiltskin’s hand comes up and clamps over her mouth. “Shh,” he whispers in her ear and she shivers against him. He pulls her in a little tighter, molding her body close to his. It should be a strange unwelcome thing and yet somehow it’s not

Someone it feels almost right?

And she shivers again at the thought.

Three men walk into the clearing.

No, not men…

_Boys._ And something niggles at her brain. _Lost boys_. She doesn’t know where the words come from, but she knows the term, knows that is who these boys are. _The lost boys_. And she doesn’t know _why_ she knows it, which bothers her perhaps more than anything else on this strange little trip.

There are memories, she realizes, locked away. Memories she’s afraid to pull out and look at too closely.

“I think he went this way,” one of the boys says.

The other sighs, rolls his eyes. “You’ve been saying that for nearly an hour.”

“Well, I know I’m right.”

“Yeah? How?”

“I just do, ok? Pan wouldn’t have sent me out here if he didn’t think I could track him.”

“Well, you’re not doing a very good job,” comes another voice. She can’t see him at first, just beyond the range of her vision.

But she knows it’s _bad news_. She can feel Rumplestiltskin stiffen behind her. She tries to pull away, but he just tucks her in even closer, his nose buried in the hair just over her left shoulder.

She shifts, turns her head a little. “Is that who we’re here to find?”

He doesn’t say anything for a moment and she fears he didn’t hear her soft question. She opens her mouth to speak when he takes a deep breath. She can feel the rise of his chest behind her shoulders. “No,” he says at last. “That’s the one I want to _avoid_.”

“Pan!” says the other boy. He’s tall. Taller than Pan, taller than the other boy. He hardly looks a child anymore, more a teenager.

“Report, Felix.”

“Cubby saw him crash his ship on the shore and head into the woods,” Felix tells him. He leans close. “He wasn’t alone.”

Pan looks almost alarmed at this. “He brought… _her_?”

Belle almost lets out a gasp, gets so far as opening her mouth in shock, but Rumplestiltskin is faster, clamping his hand over her mouth.

The other boy nods. Shorter than both, stockier. He looks like he swallowed a rotten egg as he faces Pan. “Cubby said he was with a girl.”

“It has to be her,” Pan says and Belle understands nothing of this. “Good job, boys. Felix,” he says as he turns to the taller boy. It’s clear he’s second-in-command. “Keep looking for him. He has to be here somewhere.”

Pan is gone in the blink of an eye, disappearing between one breath and the next. Felix stares at where he was last and the others watch Felix. “Well, you heard him,” Felix says, his voice tight with irritation, maybe a touch of worry. “Keep looking.”

The boys tromp off into the woods with a sigh.

And Rumplestiltskin doesn’t move away from her. He stays clinging to her, arms wrapped around her, and he is sniffing her hair?

“Rumplestiltskin?” She speaks softly. She’s not sure if she’s afraid of bringing attention to their hiding spot or if she’s afraid to startle him.

It doesn’t matter though. He releases her so suddenly that she almost falls forward, catching herself as she stumbles away from him. When she turns back, he’s smoothing down the front of his shirt, eyes averted.

“I…right…sorry…” he starts to say.

“Who was that?”

“Pan,” he says and his voice is flat and grim.

“Well, yes but…”

“He’s someone you need to stay away from.” He points a finger at her, and she feels a small shiver go through her at the dark look in his eyes.

“He’s just a boy.”

“ _Hardly_ ,” he says, waving one hand in the air. “He is far more than he seems. Don’t go near him.” When he steps into her space, eyes trained on hers, mouth set in a grim line, she wants to step away. But she can’t. She’s transfixed, her body unable to move, unable to look away. She doesn’t understand him, feels slightly unnerved every moment she’s in his presence. And yet at the same time there’s a strange sort of exhilaration that rides her nerves every time his eyes meet hers.

_As if she knows him._

_As if she’s seen him before. In a nightmare, perhaps. Or in a daydream._

“Promise me,” he says.

She blinks once, twice, and then nods, almost gravely. “Of course.”

His eyes narrow on her for just a moment, and then his whole face brightens, as if the clouds had cleared. There’s a bit of light there in his odd, almost reptilian eyes.

“Good then.” And then he waves her back toward the forest. “We’d best be on our way.”

Almost as one, they set back off into the forest, Rumplestiltskin leading their not so merry band of two. She watches him as they walk, and the more she watches him, the more she _feels_ certain about it.

She _knows_ him.

She doesn’t know how, but everything about him feels _familiar_.

It’s a disquieting feeling, a mystery for sure. And so she’ll keep it to herself, for now, take it out later to examine, to unravel. She does love a good mystery.

* * *

It’s getting dark when Rumplestiltskin stops in his tracks and puts up a hand. Belle has been following close behind him for this last little bit, trying desperately not to lag. She’s a lady, not the adventurer she wishes she were, and her legs ache and her feet are killing her, and all she wants to do is wrap herself in a blanket on the softest of feather beds.

“We can’t be about when the sun sets,” he says.

“No?”

He turns to her then and there’s a serious look in his eyes. “No,” he says most emphatically.

“Is there any reason?” She’s not sure she wants to know, really, but she can’t stop herself from asking, always this insatiable bit of curiosity inside her. It’s gotten her in trouble before. Well, to be honest, it’s gotten her _here_. She wants to see the world. And now she’s seeing a _different_ world.

“Yes,” is all he says, before stepping to the side of the path they’re on. She still doesn’t know how he sees it. She sees nothing but trees around her, but he is so surefooted, as if he’s treaded this path many times before. And so she trusts him.

_She trusts him_.

She wishes she could figure out why, but she does.

“Here,” he says, raising his hands and swiping down suddenly. Smoke appears, just as it had before, purple and thick, engulfing everything she can see off to their right.

When it clears, there’s a cabin.

No, not a cabin. Not exactly. It’s as if the trees themselves have bent into the shape of a small structure. The leaves have created a roof, a door. He sweeps a hand toward it. “After you, milady.” 

She smiles at the way he bows as she passes him, as if she is a very fine lady and he her errant knight. Inclining her head, she steps into the interior of his magically constructed cabin.

It’s small, just one room, but looks strangely comfortable out there in the woods. A small stove stands to the right, a table with two chairs and cupboards she hopes hold dishes and something to eat. Her stomach growls at the thought and she holds her hand over it to quell the noise. It’s not ladylike, after all, as her father and Gaston were likely to tell her.

She spares a quick glance for Rumplestiltskin, but he seems to not even have noticed the noises her stomach is making. Releasing a breath, she turns back to the room that will be their home for the night.

It takes her a moment to realize exactly what she’s looking at.

“Rumplestiltskin, there’s only one bed.”

“Yes, yes, I’m aware of that.” He waves a hand dismissively. “Do you think I could conjure castles out of trees?”

“Well,” Belle starts to say and then closes her mouth. She knows little of magic. Well, if she’s to be honest, she didn’t _believe_ in magic. She’d seen nothing to point to its being real, for surely if it were real she could have escaped from Gaston’s clutches.

_Just what do you think you’re doing?_ The words come unbidden into her mind and she’s not sure if _she_ thought them or someone else put them there.

“I don’t need a castle,” she points out. “Just a bed. You magicked this place up. Can’t you just magic up an extra bed?”

He turns to look at her, one eyebrow raised. “Magic always comes with a price, dearie.” He points one finger at her.

“And just what price am I paying for _this_?’ She waves a hand around the cabin.

“Apparently sharing a bed with me,” he says with a little titter. “We’ll make do. Unless, of course, you find you cannot manage to sleep beside me without keeping your hands to yourself.” He smirks at the last and Belle feels her cheeks heat.

“I didn’t imagine I’d sleep besides you at all.” She crosses her arms over her middle and turns away from him, hoping he won’t see the slight flush to her cheeks.

“Fine,” he says with an annoyed huff. “You may take the floor if it pleases you.”

“I?” She can’t help the indignant squeak to her voice. She’s never slept a day in her life on the _floor_.

He shrugs. “Well, it _is_ my ship…”

“Your _ship_? You mean the one that you wrecked? The one that’s sitting in some harbor with holes in the hull and a broken mast? _That_ ship?”

He at least has the good graces to look a little cowed by her anger. “Well, I suppose that technically the whirlpool wrecked the ship.”

She crosses her arms over her chest. “And who took us into that whirlpool?”

“Right.” He turns away from her for a moment and when he turns back, he’s wearing an almost maniacal grin. “Dinner, then, my dear?”

She narrows her eyes. “Don’t think we’re not discussing this again.”

“Of course not.”

“Hmph,” is all she says in response before turning to the cupboards They’re startlingly bare, just one plate, a tin cup that had seen better days, a fork that’s missing one of the tines. “This is all that’s here?”

“I’ll just ‘magic up’ our supper, shall I? Such a quant phrase that is, you know. ‘Magicking up’ things.” He lets out a little giggle at that. “I’ve never quite heard of it referred to that way.” He pauses, standing up and waving one hand in the air. Another dash of purple smoke and food appears on the table, accompanied by all the plates and utensils Belle had been looking for in the cupboards.

She wonders why he created the place with such bare essentials in the first place. It’s almost as if he wanted to impress her in some way, show off his skills, this _magic_ of his. And she cannot deny its existence anymore. She’s standing in a cabin in the middle of the woods, made from living trees that melded themselves to his every whim with just a wave of his hand.

_Magic_.

She knows so little about the world around her. She wonders what… _No_ …she won’t think of her father, of his wondering where she’s gone and what’s become of her in a world she’s so unfamiliar with. _I’m alright, Papa._ And she doesn’t know if she’d go back if he sent Gaston packing or not.

“Magicking things,” Rumplestiltskin is still saying as she takes the seat across from him. “ _Magicking_ things up. Yes, yes. I quite like that phrase. I think I’ll keep it.” And then he leans forward and _winks_ at her. Actually winks. As if this is all some sort of colossal joke.

Dinner is a quiet affair. Rumplestiltskin eats quickly and delicately, picking through the food that’s laid out with one small fork. She’s not really sure he enjoys it, though she cannot fathom why he wouldn’t. She tucks in, happily content that it’s perhaps even finer than the food she ate at home.

And then a thought crosses her mind. She pushes the plate away. “Is this… _real_ …food?”

He gives her a completely unreadable look and then rolls his eyes. “Of course it is. You can taste it, can’t you?”

“Yes, but…”

“Just eat,” he says, waving a hand at her.

“Where did it come from?”

“What?”

“The food…where did it come from?”

He shrugs. “I don’t really know. But it’s as real as you and I.” He gets up then, pulling back one of the curtains she hadn’t noticed, to look outside.

“It’s still light?”

He nods, eyes still watching out the window. “Yes. The sun is just beginning to set.”

She stands, pushing back from the table, and coming to stand at his side. She leans close, maybe a wee bit too close, to glance out the window. It’s a glorious evening, the sun just starting to dip down behind the trees, leaving the whole forest around them bathed in reds and golds. “Red sky at night, sailor’s delight. Red sky in the morning, sailor’s warning.” Belle murmurs the words.

“What?”

She looks up at him. He’s standing so close that she can feel the heat emanating off his body. He’s almost unnaturally warm, something she had noted when he’d been wrapped around her as they hid from Pan and the others. “Just an old adage my people say.”

“Was it red this morning?”

“I…” She swallows hard. This morning seems so long ago, almost another lifetime ago. How long have they been in Neverland anyway? A day? A month? She blinks and tries to clear the cobwebs from her mind. “I don’t know.”

He nods.

“I’ll just…go get ready for bed,” she murmurs.

He says nothing more as she turns from him to survey the room. There are enough pillows and blankets on the bed that she can make do by wrapping herself with some of them and curling up the ground. She’s dragging the quilt off the bed, when Rumplestiltskin comes to stand near her.

She stops, glances up at him.

“Oh, just take the bed. I was only joking about your sleeping on the floor.” The last is said on a half-pout and she’s not quite sure why he suddenly looks so…adorable. _Is that even the right word?_

He watches her for a moment before looking away, eyes trained back on whatever is outside the window. She shakes her head and picks the pillows back up.

“What are you doing?” he says.

She throws her hands up in the air, heaves a sigh of frustration. “Putting them back on the bed?”

“Leave them.” He turns back to her then. “I’ll sleep on the floor.”

Her eyebrows rise at that. She knows little about him and what she does know is a complete enigma, like puzzle pieces that don’t quite fit together. Magical and strange and yet somehow _familiar_ at the same time, he is also, apparently, a _gentleman_.

“We can share the bed.” The words come out before she had even made up her mind to say them. It’s his turn to stare, mouth half open, and she smirks a little at that, leaning a bit closer to him. “I promise to keep my hands off you.” He doesn’t say anything else, just continues to watch her as she crawls into bed. It’s not like they can’t fit on it. It’s large and they’re both slight. They can easily put a foot or more between them.

As she curls into the comforter and shuts her eyes, she hears him murmur, “If that’s what you want.” And she’s not quite sure about the strange tone to the words. It almost sounds like…wonder.

* * *

The first time she wakes up, she’s disoriented. The bed feels different, _smells_ different. For a moment she lays still, trying to figure out where she is before it all comes rushing back to her. Neverland, the tree cabin in the woods, _Rumplestiltskin_.

_Magic is real_.

And that’s when she realizes there’s a strange weight at her waist pinning her to the bed. Opening her eyes, she looks down and sees his arm draped over her. He’s still laying a foot or so away from her and no other part of his body touches her, but sometime during the night he had flung his arm out and over her, a slightly possessive, strangely protective position. She knows she should be horrified, should shove him away immediately. And yet she doesn’t. Instead, she places her hand over his, lightly, just softly enough for him to not stir at the touch, and lets herself fall back to sleep.

The second time she wakes up, she feels slightly panicked. She’s facing the opposite direction, inward on the bed instead of toward the wall. This time Rumplestiltskin is pressed far too close to her, his forehead tight against hers, hand fisted in the shirt near her shoulders, keeping her anchored to him. She can feel the tension radiating off his body, every muscle taught. Reaching up, she lightly touches the side of his face, feathering her hand through the waves of his hair. Almost instantly, she feels the tension leave him, draining right out as he sinks into the bed beneath them. He doesn’t move, however, doesn’t take his hands off her. She can feel the heat of his body, can feel his breath on her face. She smiles a sort of sad, half-amused smile. _And I was the one who promised to keep my hands off of him_.

The third time she wakes up, she finds herself facing away from him again, but little else had changed. He’s plastered to her, his whole body pressed up against her, one arm tight around her waist, head resting on her pillow. It’s intimate and familiar and she’s not sure what that says about her. Or him, really. She squirms a little as his breath tickles the hair at her neck.

She feels the moment he wakes up. His body tenses suddenly and he eases his arm slowly off her. With a grin, Belle turns over. “Gotcha!” The word is bright, upbeat, a bit too loud. She’s surprised to see that he’s up and off the bed already.

He makes a cutting noise in the air with one hand.

“What?” She blinks once, twice, as he makes another motion with his hand, his eyes watching the door. “Did you just shush me?”

“Yes,” he snaps at her, the word coming out as a whispered hiss. He turns to her for a moment and while his eyes are hard to discern in the darkness of the cabin, there’s something rather worrying about the set of his jaw.

“What?”

“Pan,” is all he says, and she never knew one word could bring such a sense of _dread_. He’s just a boy, she keeps telling herself. _Just a boy_.

“I don’t…” she starts to say, when the cabin dissolves around them and Rumplestiltskin is rushing to her. He has her around the waist and before she can even let out a squeak of protest, everything shifts around them.

Well, maybe not shifts exactly. The purple smoke she’s beginning to associate with his magic engulfs them and the world fades in increments, from the dark of the forest to something brighter. Moonlight, she realizes, as the smoke fades, and they’re left standing on the edge of a cliff.

She steps away from him as soon as her vision clears, and watches as a myriad of expressions move across his face. Worry, fear, and something else she can’t quite define. One of his hands is raised in the air, almost a defensive gesture, thumb and finger rubbing together. “Pan,” he repeats, as if that’s an explanation.

“Why are you so scared of him?”

“I’m not,” he says almost too quickly.

“You _are_.” She moves back closer to him. “I understand none of this. Rumplestiltskin, why are we _really_ here?”

And he looks terrified at that. “I can’t…”

“You dragged me along…”

“I? No. You were the one who booked passage with me.”

“Passage to a new life. Passage to the new world.”

“Well, I brought you to _a_ new world,” he points out. “You weren’t specific.”

She closes her mouth at that, not quite sure what to say exactly. He’s right. She wanted out, wanted away from Gaston, away from the impending marriage.

He nods. “You came to me.”

“I did. But I don’t understand…”

There are lines between his brows and the corners of his mouth are downturned. It punches her in the gut. He’s _wounded_ in some way, wounded and scared, and she understands nothing. Not of him, not of this place, certainly not of magic.

“You will,” he says, voice grim.

“ _Rumplestiltskin_!” She takes a deep breath. “Why are we really here?”

He watches her for a moment and then finally sighs. “We’re looking for one Killian Jones, Captain of the Jolly Roger.” He says the words and then cuts off, like he’s waiting for some sort of reaction. She hates that she doesn’t give it to him, because he sighs again. “He’s stolen something from me.”

“That’s what all this is about?”

“It’s very important.” He waggles a finger at her.

“Important enough to strand us here?”

“We’re not stranded...”

“Are we not remembering the same boat?” she shoots back with. “The one that’s…”

“Yes, yes. I know _that_ boat.” He crosses his arms over his chest, pointed chin slightly tilted up.

Belle rolls her eyes. “And so?”

“There are other ways out,” he grumbles.

“And those would be?”

“My business.”

“It seems to be mine as well.”

He throws his hands up in the air. “Let’s just…can we just move on? We need to find Jones and we need to get out of here. _Before_ Pan catches wind of us.”

He raises a hand and whisks them off before Belle even has a chance to respond.

* * *

Three days.

It takes them _three days_ of tromping through the forest, of arguments, of nights spent in cabins magically constructed from whatever trees and rocks happen to be nearby.

One night they spend on the beach, their cabin of rock and sand.

Another they spend in the forest below the branches twisted into a home.

Each night she wakes up with Rumplestiltskin wrapped around her. He says nothing about that. She doesn’t either. They’re not disturbed by Pan at least. He doesn’t appear to be following them and Rumplestiltskin says while he is no doubt aware of their presence to some degree, he’s managed to disguise them enough that Pan has been unable to track them down.

She wonders, not for the first time, just what connection her impish traveling partner has to Pan. And just what _is_ it about a mere boy that has someone with so much power unsettled in such a way?

But Rumplestiltskin is not talking, and so they move on each day.

And somewhere along the line, she starts to have _fun_. She wanted an adventure, had sat in her room all alone, books around her, and _dreamed_. So more and more she finds herself leaning into it all, eyes bright and alert, as they make their way closer and closer to whatever goal it is that Rumplestiltskin has.

She’s almost sure she’ll be sad when it’s over.

* * *

“It’s an island,” Rumplestiltskin is saying on the morning of the fourth day. They’ve woken up in yet another tree-cabin, and set about leaving on the next leg of their adventure.

“And so we’re looking for the captain of another ship?”

He nods as they push through some bushes. “Careful there,” he says, reaching out and drawing her up and over a small bit that sticks out. “You don’t want to touch that.”

“What is it?” she asks as he sets her down, turning back toward the bush.

“Nightshade,” is all he says.

“And that is?”

He doesn’t explain, not exactly. “It will kill you.” And she shudders at that, a small part of her excitement over the adventure waning.

“I hope there’s not more…” she starts to say when he holds up his hand to stop her.

For a moment, she has no idea why he’s stopped them on their path. And then she hears it. Voices. These sound like grown men, one cocksure, a bit arrogant, the other obsequious.

“Found him,” Rumplestiltskin says. There’s a strange light in his eyes, mouth set in a grim line, voice dark. This is what they’re here for, the scoundrel who stole whatever is important enough that Rumplestiltskin has brought them to a place that he clearly finds terrifying in order to reclaim it.

When he sets forward again, he holds up an arm to keep her back. “This is my issue to worry about.” He turns back toward her and his eyes turn soft, kind, for just a moment. “Stay back and keep hidden.”

And then he’s gone, stepping out of the forest and into the clearing beyond. Belle sneaks forward and ducks her head around the corner of one tree. Rumplestiltskin is making his way across the beach, highlighted by the rising sun. Floating by the dock is another ship, a sloop with several masts, sails lowered as it bobs almost innocently next to the dock.

With soft footfalls that she can’t hear from her place, she sees Rumplestiltskin step onto the dock and a moment later he’s gone, purple smoke engulfing him. She sees him reappear on the deck and hears the commotion that follows.

“Crocodile,” she hears someone say. She can’t quite see him from her vantage point, but she can hear the disdain dripping off the voice. There’s something a little oily about it.

All she hears from Rumplestiltskin is a small giggle, and then she has no time to contemplate at all what is going on because something sharp pokes her in the back. With a gasp, she turns around and comes face to face with someone. She notices his red hat first, and then doleful eyes set above a mouth that’s slowly turning into a grin.

He pokes her with edge of his sword again, and Belle steps backward.

“Keep moving,” he says.

“Who are you?”

“That hardly matters.” He pokes at her again. “The Captain’ll want to see you.”

She feels the hair on the back of her neck stand up just a bit. “I really don’t want to…”

The point of his sword digs in a little bit and she lets out a small yelp. “You have no choice. Haven’t you learned _anything_?” He sounds almost exasperated and maybe even a little bit worried. For a moment Belle wonders if she can use that, but then he pokes her again the sword and growls something at her.

“Get moving.”

She moves.

She supposes it was bound to happen anyway. There’s this strange feeling of inevitability about the whole thing. As he brings her up the gangplank, she stumbles. There’s something, a vision maybe, a dream, _something_ , just at the edges of her mind. She’s _been_ there before.

_That’s not possible_.

“Well, well, well…what have we here?” She hears the voice moments before her eyes settle on the speaker. Standing at least a head taller than Rumplestiltskin, leaning against the side of the ship, he looks confident and at ease with the slight movements of the ship. She grips the rail as she tries to keep her balance. “I see you found her, Crocodile.” He looks at Rumplestiltskin then and she can only assume that _he_ is the “crocodile” he’s referring to.

“You must be Killian Jones,” Belle says with far more bravado than she’s really feeling. _Don’t let him see your fear, child. Keep your chin up_.

“Is that what he told you?” He leans in close to her. She doesn’t lean away. _No fear_. “It’s Captain Hook now.” And he raises his left arm, displaying a wicked curved hook where his hand should be. “Surely you know that.”

She glances over at Rumplestiltskin, just one spare glance.

“Ah,” Hook says and the smirk he gives her, eyes trailing from face down to bodice and back up should be telling, if only she could understand exactly what is going on. “She doesn’t know.”

Rumplestiltskin doesn’t respond.

Belle doesn’t either. She’s not sure if she _should_. She has no idea what she’s supposed to know.

“She still can’t…”

“No,” Rumplestiltskin says, the word a little too quick, too sharp.

“And so…” Hook starts to say.

“ _Yes,_ ” Rumplestiltskin hisses at him. When he turns to Belle, his face is blank, almost too carefully blank. “Belle, you weren’t supposed to come up here.”

Hook laughs. “She had no choice, mate. My men spotted _two_ of you approaching and yet only _one_ dared come on my ship. We couldn’t possibly leave this lovely lady to hide in the forest, now could we boys?” There’s a rousing chorus of _No!_ from the men behind him as he circles her, carefully pulling her further away from Rumplestiltskin. A predator stalking his prey, separating her from the pack before going in for the kill. “And so, my lovely lady, how _do_ you keep ending up with this crocodile?” He grabs her hand and leans in to kiss it. Certainly it _should_ be a gentlemanly gesture and yet it feels oily and strange and all she wants to do is pull her hand away and wipe it on her trousers.

And then Rumplestiltskin is there, moving between them. He’s lithe, light on his feet. She never sees him move, but suddenly he’s there and Hook is thrown back without so much as a thought.

“Is that how you’re going to play it?” Hook’s men start to round on Rumplestiltskin and Belle cries out.

“That _is_ , dearie,” Rumplestiltskin says. He giggles then, and yet it’s not an amusing sound. Brittle, like broken glass, it scrapes across her senses. “You know why I’m here.”

“Another heart?” Hook tosses off.

“No one would want that old husk of a thing,” Rumplestiltskin taunts.

“You certainly wanted Milah’s,” Hook tosses back.

_Milah...that name…_

“Hardly. She got what she deserved…”

Hook rushes him again, sword drawn.

Belle lets out a small squeal as she backs away from the weapon.

“This again?” Rumplestiltskin almost sounds _bored_ by it all. And then he has a sword too. She can barely follow them after that. The clang of swords, thrusts and parries, twirling around each other.

Rumplestiltskin makes at least one strike on Hook.

Hook can’t seem to get close to the smaller man despite his longer reach.

Belle wants to put a stop to it all, but they’re so absorbed in whatever they’re doing that neither pay her any mind. Hook’s men cheer on their captain, eyes trained on the fight. And Belle starts to glance around. It’s clear that Rumplestiltskin is here after something and this fight is getting them nowhere.

She wants out of this place.

She wants no more of Pan, no more of this Hook character, no more of this _Neverland_ place with plants that can kill you and mysteries she’s not sure she wants to know the answers to.

There’s something she’s just not grasping.

Something about Rumplestiltskin and Hook and even this red-hatted ratty man that makes her feel like she should know things she doesn’t know.

The red-hatted man looks at her with a strange sort of glee.

Hook looks at her with pity and unbridled lust that makes her skin crawl.

Rumplestiltskin looks at her with this air of almost _guilt_ hanging over him, and for some reason that makes her stomach churn with an emotion she can’t quite identify.

“Stop this!” she finally shouts, rushing toward the two men. The red-hatted man tries to pull her back, but she shrugs him off.

Rumplestiltskin glances her way for just a moment, just barely skittering back away from Hook’s sword. With a grimace, he throws his sword up to block the other man. She really has no idea just _why_ he’s doing this. He has _magic._ She’s seen more of it over the past few days than she ever imagined to, watching as he transformed the very trees and rocks around them to suit his needs.

The whole adventure seems unnecessary.

But there’s that dark look to his eyes and the feeling of unfinished business between the two men.

“Rumplestiltskin!” she shouts.

“Stay back, Belle,” he shouts back.

She doesn’t.

When has she ever? Climbing trees to the highest point, balancing on the edge of a cliff, always the one who goes too far, too fast. Belle isn’t one to hold back.

She rushes forward, coming in between them just as Hook’s sword makes a downward thrust.

And freezes in the air.

She lets out a gasping breath and turns. The sword is mere millimeters from her arm and Hook is straining against it. Belle carefully slides out from underneath it and Rumplestiltskin quickly pushes her behind him.

He’s breathing hard, watching Hook where he stands frozen in place. The red-hatted man rushes forward and Rumplestiltskin freezes him in place too.

“You know what I want,” Rumplestiltskin says, almost conversationally. “Oh, are you not able to respond?” He titters at that, his hands clapping together in glee. “I guess you can’t.” He waves a hand and Belle can see the muscles of Hook’s face relax just little bit. “Where is it?” Rumplestiltskin asks.

“Now why would I tell you?” Hook bites out.

Rumplestiltskin giggles.

And Belle wants to scream at them both.

“Maybe,” Rumplestiltskin finally says, “because I could hold your heart in my hands if I wanted. And _nothing_ could stop me.”

“Nothing but Belle, you mean.” His eyes move to her for a moment before turning back to his opponent.

Rumplestiltskin shrugs.

“She’d never forgive you if you killed me, mate,” Hook says, and she has no idea how he could possibly _know_ her like that, but she knows he’s right.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.” Rumplestiltskin shrugs. “It seems, however, that we are at an impasse.”

“Indeed.”

“How about I make you a deal?” Rumplestiltskin says.

“A deal? Are you really in a place to make one?”

“Are you in any place to turn one down?” Rumplestiltskin shoots back with. “It seems I have the upper hand here. As _always_.”

“I remember a time when you were nothing but a crippled bastard unable to rescue his wife.”

Rumplestiltskin snarls something incoherent and one hand comes up in a fist. “A _deal_ , dearie. You give me what I want and I leave you all alive.”

“Not good enough,” Hook tosses back. Even Belle can see Rumplestiltskin is holding back from doing _something_ terrible. “You leave us alive. You leave me my ship. And you never return to Neverland once you manage to find your way off this island.”

Rumplestiltskin looks concerned for a moment, but then the furrows of his brow smooth out. “Deal!” he crows. Hook is released a moment later, his sword continuing in its original path, Rumplestiltskin jumps out of the way with a little giggle.

“Smee!” Hook shouts and the red-hatted man rushes forward. _Smee_ … _of course his name is Smee_. And she’s not even sure why it makes sense, like the name was just hidden somewhere inside her mind. “Get it.”

“But, sir…”

Hook turns to him. “I’ve made a deal, Smee. And I’m a man of my word.” He glances back over at Rumplestiltskin with a somewhat feral look to his face.

“He won’t be able to…”

“ _Smee!_ ”

“Yes, sir.” The man scurries off, moving so fast that he reaches up to keep his red hat in place on his round head.

He returns a moment later with a small black box in his hands, gripping it so hard that his knuckles have turned a bit white. His hands shake as he hands it to his captain.

“What is it?” Belle asks.

Rumplestiltskin takes it from Hook, staring at it as it comes to rest in his hands. Such a small, inconsequential looking thing. “Everything,” he says.

“Now hold to your side of the deal,” Hook says. “Leave my ship and leave this place. I don’t ever want to see you again, Crocodile.”

Rumplestiltskin says nothing else to him, turning to Belle and holding out his arm. “Come,” he says. As soon as she steps forward, linking her arm with his, the ship and Hook and all his men disappear around them.

* * *

They reappear on a beach. It’s not the one they had originally washed up on. It’s not even one they had visited before. The ocean spreads out beyond them, unfathomably vast. Her arm is still linked with Rumplestiltskin’s, his other hand gripping the box he had been given.

She turns to him then, unlinking their arms as she faces him. “What is it?” she asks again.

Rumplestiltskin won’t meet her eyes, just keeps moving the box around in his hands, back and forth, twisting it around and around. “Oh, Belle,” he whispers.

She feels some sort of strange apprehension creep up her spine. “Rumplestiltskin?”

“I don’t know if I should open this _now_ or wait…” His voice drifts off.

“Wait for what?”

“Until we’re back.”

“Back?” She doesn’t want to go back. Not to _there_. Not to her father, certainly not to Gaston.

“Storybrooke,” he mutters.

“Story book? I don’t understand this at all.”

He offers a small huff of laughter. “Not story _book_. Storybrooke. It’s…well, it’s a town. All your friends are there.”

“My friends are all back with the suitor I abandoned. Rumplestiltskin, I have no idea what you’re going on about, but you’re starting to scare me.”

“That’s exactly the problem, isn’t it?”

He says nothing more and Belle’s eyes are drawn once again to the small black box that he’s been worrying about with his hands. “What’s in the box, Rumplestiltskin?”

“I suppose I should open it now then.”

“ _Rumplestiltskin_.”

“Yes, I suppose that’s the only choice I have left.” He looks up at her then. “I hope you’ll forgive me when it’s all over.”

“When _what_ is…” she starts to say, but he’s already reaching and tipping the top of the box back.

She watches, transfixed, as smoke pours out of it. Not purple, like the smoke of Rumplestiltskin’s magic, but a deep, dark red. The color of half-dried blood, it makes her shiver as it begins to form into a shape.

It’s just vague at first, the lump beginning to form arms, then legs, and a head.

And then for just a moment she realizes she’s looking at _herself_. She stares at the carbon copy of herself with wide eyes. The carbon copy stills, staring back at her. She almost speaks, tries to open her mouth, when the copy flies forward. It hits her like a runaway carriage, colliding heavily with her. As she’s knocked back, she hears Rumplestiltskin shout something.

And then…

_Hook, standing over her, holding that same box._

_Pan, laughing, “Do it.”_

_A dagger, raised high above her._

_Rumplestiltskin, standing to the side, his eyes wide and a vein at his temple bulging as he tries to move from his spot._

_“No, you don’t get to move.” Pan again. Laughing. Always laughing. Dark and evil, as the boy waves the dagger toward her._

_The boy…who’s not a boy._

_“Papa, please…” Rumplestiltskin’s face, that lined face she first saw when she came to Storybrooke, looks terrified. That wonderful beloved face._

_“I won’t forget you,” she says._

_“I’ll find you. I’ll save you,” Rumplestiltskin manages to get out._

_Wait…_

_Storybrooke._

_Pan._

_Hook._

She comes to with a gasp. “Rumple!”

He’s still standing there, holding the box but _Oh Gods_ , his face. His precious, dear face. “Belle?” And he looks so _uncertain_.

“Yes! Yes, it’s me!” And she’s racing across the little bit of beach separating them to throw herself into his arms. “You found me!” She buries her face in his neck, smells that familiar scent of leather and magic that she knows is _his_.

“I told you I would,” he says into her hair, arms wrapped tight around her. “I told you I’d make it right.”

“How long?” Belle asks, pulling away from him. She can feel the tears pricking at her eyes, memories of her life, her _real_ life coming back in a dizzying rush.

“Two years,” he chokes out.

“Two…”

“I had no idea where you were,” he admits. “What land you might have been sent to, what your memories might be. And I knew…” Here he hesitates and Belle reaches out a hand, touching him lightly.

“Yes?”

“I knew you wouldn’t want me to rip apart the world to find you.”

“No more dark curses,” she murmurs.

“Exactly. And so I found portals to other lands, beans to take me to far away places. I’ve been to Wonderland and Agrabah, other worlds you’ve never even heard of. Only to find you in some alternate version of our own world, one where you never left your father.”

“One where I didn’t go with you,” she surmises. And he nods. A small flash of guilt crosses his face, and she knows. She _knows_. Rumplestiltskin changes, but he doesn’t change his core self. “You thought I was better off there.” He cringes. “That’s why you were on that ship. That’s why you weren’t carting me off as soon as you found where I was.”

“You came to _me_ ,” he says. “Found me.”

“Rumplestiltskin,” she says, shaking her head. “Don’t you realize?”

“Realize…”

“That _we_ are meant to be. I don’t need protecting from you.”

He nods and she leans up then, pressing her mouth softly to his. He lets out a quiet whimper at the touch of her lips, wrapping his arms around her and hauling her in close. He deepens the kiss, tongue swiping against her lips to gain entrance. And _gods_ , but it feels good to be in his arms again, to feel his lips against hers, the sweep of his hands down her back to rest heavily on her waist.

She finally pulls away. She’d love nothing more than to pull him down to the beach and find each other again _properly_. But they need to find a way out of _this_ first. Rumplestiltskin had made a deal, after all, and the sooner they saw that deal fulfilled the better.

“Belle…” he starts to say.

“How are we getting out of here?” she interrupts with. “How are we getting home? Our ship is destroyed. We can’t steal Hook’s…”

He grins then and Belle realizes she’s forgotten how much she enjoys this imp version of her love. It’s been a long time since she’s seen him, and while she certainly enjoys his more human side, _this_ is the Rumplestiltskin she ultimately first fell in love with.

“An old friend,” is all he says, reaching down to pick up one of the conch shells littering the beach. He blows a note on it and a moment later, the water starts bubbling.

Belle jumps back a bit and Rumplestiltskin wraps his arm around her, holding her close to him. “Just wait. You don’t want to miss this.”

A familiar head pops out of the water.

Eyes look left, right, and then settle on them.

“Rumplestiltskin!” comes a very dear voice that Belle just realized how much she missed. “Belle! You found her!!”

And then they’re both wrapped in eight wet and somewhat slimy tentacles as Stan envelops them in a crushing hug.

“Stan!” Belle just barely manages to get out before being nearly smothered by the overly enthusiastic octopus.

“Let go!” Rumplestiltskin finally manages to get out, and amazingly enough the ridiculous creature actually obeys him.

Belle can breathe again, and turns toward Rumplestiltskin. There’s a bit of goo hanging off one side of his hair, and the expression on his face looks like it’s warring between annoyed and overjoyed. He finally smiles. “Stan, you see, can travel the oceans between worlds,” he says, waving one hand at the creature,

“And so we didn’t need the ship you wrecked.”

“No.” He gives her a somewhat sheepish look at that.

“Or Hook’s ship.”

“No,” he repeats. Before she can go on, he turns back to the octopus, who’s eagerly watching them, eyes wide and looking about half a second away from another hug. “Stan,” Rumplestiltskin starts to say.

“Yes, Rumplestilskin!” Stan shouts, tentacles waving in the air. He picks up one of the shells and lobs it at Rumplestiltskin, who easily ducks out of the way of it. It’s almost a game between them at this point.

“We need another bean.”

“On it!” Stan shouts and a moment later he disappears beneath the sea again.

“Beans? I thought those were all gone?”

Rumplestiltskin pulls her in close, even if they’re both a bit covered in goo from Stan. “We’ve managed to rebuild, cultivate the field from a few seeds.”

“A lot’s happened while I’ve been gone,” Belle says sadly.

“It has. But Belle?” She turns to him, and is surprised to see just how excited he looks. “We can go _anywhere_ now.”

And she likes the sound of that, of going anywhere. She always _has_ wanted to see the world.

**Author's Note:**

> I so hope you enjoyed this, even though it's smutless. I have to admit I literally ALMOST wrote you a Calamari fic, but decided against it! So I hope you enjoyed the surprise appearance of Stan!


End file.
